Legends of Gila Boxed Set: Ruyn Trilogy - 1- Sword of Ruyn, 2 - Magic of Ruyn, 3 - Dragon of Ruyn (Legends of Gilia Boxed Set)

by RG Long

  Many soldiers were now riffling through the debris.

  What they were looking for, Wisym didn't know.

  She had seen raids like this before. The Silver Suns sought to cause as much commotion as they could, make the army and governor respond, and then hope they make a mess of things. In the end, the Silver Suns look like the winners twice over.

  There were several loud cracks and pops that echoed throughout the area.

  “Look out! It's coming down!” yelled someone from the front of the building.

  On cue, the building began to collapse in on itself. Soldiers ran this way and that. Several escaped from the building with only moments to spare.

  The large roof caved in and the entire building came down with a resounding crash.

  Whatever the Suns had meant to take was gone. Whatever the Red Guard had hoped to salvage was, too.

  As the dust cloud settled, Wisym began to walk closer to the wreckage, only to be stopped by a strong hand that grabbed her arm.

  “You! You're on the governor's council!” said a scruff voice. “Look at this mess! This could have been avoided!”

  Following the arm that held her, Wisym found the eyes of someone she had begun to loathe due to meetings such as these.

  “Hello, General Jamond,” she said, taking his hand away from her and stepping back a step. “I'm surprised to see you here so soon. Didn't the Silver Suns just run away?”

  She despised the man.

  He was the head of the Red Guard and the most outspoken about what he perceived to be unfair checks the governor placed on his army. Everything about him irritated Wisym. From his too large, brown handlebar mustache to his too well trimmed short haircut. Not a strand seemed out of place.

  He was nearly as tall as she was, which was a giant to some men. His broad frame betrayed his devotion to keeping himself the prime example of physical fitness to his men.

  If only his brain were as well taken care of, Wisym thought with an inward chuckle.

  "It seems like another one of your precious store houses has had an incident," she said.

  Her comment had the intended effect.

  Jamond was explosive with his outburst.

  "If the governor would approve of having more guards, I could have adequately protected the valuables inside!"

  The crowds that had gathered to see the raid now began to shift their attention to the screaming general.

  "I'm sure the governor would be willing to increase your troops if you allowed him a say in how you use them," she retorted.

  "Oh that the Suns would save us from foreigners who think they know about our affairs!" Jamond said as he stormed off in the direction of the rubble.

  Wisym turned to the group that had followed her from the governor’s mansion.

  "You can see how the politicians and the army don't really get along," she said with a smile.

  Folke and Alric exchanged glances.

  "I'm thankful we don't have this insanity in Thoran!" Folke said.

  For a moment, Ealrin thought he saw an odd expression on Alric's face. But as quickly as he had seen it, the look was gone.

  Did Folke and Alric agree on the evils of the Suns?

  Seeing that the screaming match was over and that the Silver Suns had dispersed, most of the crowd that had gathered began to whittle away. Ealrin was watching one man intently. He carried a rather ornate spear, but was not dressed in the garb of the army. The man was large by any measure, and stood a head above most of those around him. He wore a brown cloak over his clothing and kept it close to him.

  The Red Guard busied themselves with the task of clearing away the rubble.

  "So," Alric said. "If you all have been sent here from Thoran to find us, father must have important news."

  The group became very still.

  Wisym watched the expression on every face turn grave.

  "Indeed, we have news," the man they called Gaflion said. "But we had best return to the mansion before we give it in full."

  None of the newcomers met the gaze of the princes.

  Wisym was sure that their tidings would not be pleasant.

  28: The Next Step

  Out of respect for the princes, most of the group stayed within the dining hall while Gaflion, their uncle, broke the news to them of their father's passing.

  Though there were two heavy doors between them and the sad news being told, Ealrin could still hear the sobs resounding through the halls of the mansion.

  “Bah. It's a dark day,” said Gorplin as he looked out of one of the windows of the hall. Ealrin sat at the table writing in the journal Elezar had given him in Good Harbor. He looked over to the dwarf. The suns were streaming into the hall, warming the chill autumn air.

  Not even the brightness of the sun could warm their mood.

  All around the table had loved King Thoran. Even Jurgon and Jurrin sniffed and wiped their noses on their sleeves. Having to tell the news of a loved one's passing was never easy to listen to or hear of.

  “He must've been a good king, sir,” Jurrin said. “To be so admired by his sons.”

  Jurgon blew his nose into what he thought was a napkin. It was actually the fancy tablecloth.

  “Yup,” he answered.

  Tory sat in a chair facing the wall; his sword lay against his lap. Lote held a glass of water, but didn't drink it. Bertrom ate a slice of bread from a loaf that had been brought out for them.

  No one was in the mood for more than that.

  A door opened at one end of the dining room and Wisym walked through it.

  Ealrin gave a half smile in her direction, which she returned sheepishly.

  He wasn't sure why he was so taken by the elf. Perhaps it was because of her demeanor.

  The only female elf Ealrin had spent any time with was Lote. She wasn't much for smiles or conversations. Wisym, however, was different.

  “I believe they're almost finished,” she said as she sat across from Ealrin.

  “What's that?” she asked, pointing to the journal.

  “This?” Ealrin said as he took up his pen from his sketch of the Mountain Gate. “It was a gift from a friend in Good Harbor. An innkeeper actually.”

  Ealrin began to tell the story of how he and two others had run halfway across the island to retrieve an amulet for the old man. Before he could finish and tell about how he came to the service of Thoran, however, the doors on the other side of the hall swung open and the three rejoined the whole party.

  Both Folke and Alric's eyes were bloodshot. Their cheeks were red. Even Gaflion had some color in his nose.

  Ealrin was glad they could at least hear of their father's passing from family.

  “The princes would like to join our discussion over the next part in our quest to aid Thoran,” Gaflion said as they sat at the table.

  Everyone came to take a seat who was not already.

  Folke cleared his throat and tried to speak normally, though his voice was strained.

  “It seems,” he managed, “that we have a need to beg for unity on Ruyn.”

  ***

  BY THAT EVENING, THEIR original plan had been adapted as necessary, and the preparations to put it into action were underway.

  Though the princes would have been useful in persuading the two nations to come to war, both felt it necessary they remain in Beaton.

  "I have the feeling both of you will have an easier time convincing dwarves and elves to fight alongside us than we will have convincing the Red Guard and politicians here to get along," Folke said.

  Alric was nodding his head solemnly. He hadn't said much since returning to the dining hall. He hadn't eaten any food either.

  Ealrin couldn't blame him.

  "Tomorrow morning each of us will set about the task that was given," Lote said. "From what I've been able to research on the area, it shouldn't take three weeks to travel there and back as well as spend time making your case."

  "That gives us three weeks here," Bertrom said. />
  Judging by their previous experience, and what he had learned so far from being in the city for two days, Ealrin wasn't sure that that would be enough time.

  ***

  BY MORNING, THE TWO groups, who would travel west and north respectively, were packed and gathered at the mansion doors they had entered only two nights ago.

  Each would leave from a different gate than the one they entered when they first arrived.

  Ealrin could tell both groups were anxious about their journeys.

  "Try not to complain the entire way, Tory," Ealrin told him as he clasped him on the shoulder.

  "Bah. Good luck with that," Gorplin said as he fastened the strips of this pack.

  Tory knelt down till he was eye level with the dwarf.

  "And you try not to eat all of your provisions before you arrive, greedy guts," he said as he poked him in the belly.

  Gorplin took a swing at him, but Gaflion held him back.

  "It's not too late to trade, Miss Lote," he said. "Are you sure you don't want to take this one?"

  "I think I can handle the complaints just fine," she replied.

  In a show of salute, Lote took one of her swords and lifted it into the air.

  Everyone gathered with a weapon did the same, whether they were about to embark on a journey or stay in Beaton.

  They stood in a circle for a moment, weapons lifted and crossed in the air.

  "A Sword for the King!" Lote called.

  "A Sword for the King!" came the reply from those who had traveled from Thoran.

  Ealrin smiled as he put his own sword back and saw that the two halflings had taken part in the salute, though they understood little of what it meant to carry a sword for Thoran. They knew what it meant to fight for their homeland, however.

  Something about that warmed Ealrin's heart.

  "Come, Tory. We are off," Lote said after she had replaced her weapon.

  Tory rolled his eyes and waved at the others as he followed Lote north.

  "Bah. I've had my fill of elf ears," Gorplin said as he finally finished adjusting his straps. "Come on you lot! To the west!"

  Gaflion, Jurgon, and Jurrin all began to walk west, following Wisym's instructions down to the road that led to a different gate.

  Ealrin watched them both walk for a moment. Then he heard Gorplin cry out:

  "Have fun with long-legs, Tory!" followed by a hearty laugh.

  He probably would've kept laughing, too, had Lote's arrow not nicked his ear.

  Ealrin heard him shouting for a good few moments.

  "So," Bertrom said over the sound of dwarven curses. "How do we convince these people to lend us their army?"

  Bertrom looked at Wisym, who looked at Ealrin.

  He thought for moment. Wisym had spent two months trying to sway the minds that they needed to convince in less than three weeks. Both princes of Thoran were now also trying to influence those in power.

  There was much work to be done, but there was also something bothering Ealrin.

  "The very first thing I want to do," he said as he turned back into the mansion to retrieve his sword. "Is to take a walk."

  He looked back just in time to see their confused faces. No matter.

  There was something he needed to see.

  Or rather, someone.

  29: Marching West

  "My father used to tell me stories of the famed halls of the dwarves of the West," Gorplin said on the second day of their journey. For only one of their number having longer legs than those of a child, they were making good time.

  Perhaps it was because Gorplin had a willing audience to listen to his tales of dwarf history. Gaflion, at the very least, didn't seem to mind the stories.

  Jurgon and Jurrin were both enthralled.

  "You mean to say, sir, that the entire mountain is one large city?"

  Gorplin let out a boisterous laugh. He hadn't felt this good in weeks.

  "Bah. Not just a city! The whole country! The mountain range is home to thousands of dwarves. Maybe tens of thousands! It's the largest settlement of my race on the continent. Maybe even on the whole planet!"

  Jurrin looked at Gorplin, wide-eyed.

  "You mean there's more to the world than even this?" He asked.

  "You need to see more of the world," Gorplin said as he slapped the halfling on the back.

  "There are whole other continents on Gilia! Other lands for us to explore! Other mountains to mine! Cities of men, dwarves, elves, and even other places maybe yet undiscovered."

  Gorplin was quite enjoying putting ideas of other places into the minds of the halflings. Those poor souls had never wandered beyond their forest. There was a whole world to explore!

  There was only one problem.

  "Have you been to those places, sir?" Jurrin asked, his voice still filled with awe.

  "Yes, little Master," Gaflion added. "I was wondering the same thing myself."

  Gorplin hesitated and made a few grunts and huffs.

  "Bah," he said after a moment. "I haven't been to them yet!" He admitted.

  "But you can bet I will!"

  The journey so far hadn't convinced him that he needed to settle down. Just the opposite. He had been bit by a ravenous need to explore.

  He was plagued with wanderlust.

  They continued to march for the rest of the day. Gorplin was still telling grand stories of places he had never seen but intended to visit one day: Irradan, The Holy Empire, Redact, and other far off, distant lands.

  He was so wrapped up in where he could go, that he wasn't paying any attention to where he was.

  "Master Gorplin," Gaflion said, stopping him with a hand on his shoulder. "Be mindful of the bridge."

  Gorplin looked up at Gaflion, confused. The old man nodded in front of them.

  It was then that Gorplin saw the great chasm that sprawled out before them. A two hundred feet sheer cliff was two steps in front of him.

  He backed away quickly.

  "Bah," he said as a cool sweat swept over him.

  Gorplin was no friend of heights.

  Jurgon let out a low whistle, which echoed down throughout the chasm. A small river ran through the bottom of it. In the failing light of the day, it was becoming harder by the moment to see what lay at the end of the cliff.

  "An ancient river bed," Gaflion said as he edged closer to the cliff face, peering over. Just barely discernible was the flow of water below. Though it may have once been a mighty river, its days of glorious rushing were over.

  Just watching him do it gave Gorplin the shivers.

  "Careful not to fall!" he said, a little too loudly to convince anyone he was being particularly brave.

  Gaflion turned and gave him a small smile. He pointed with his left hand.

  "Care to lead us, Master Gorplin?"

  Following the direction he had indicated, Gorplin saw a narrow, tall, ancient, and surely unsafe bridge that spanned the gap.

  Its stone pillars disappeared into darkness.

  "I'd rather shave," Gorplin said under his breath, knowing no elves were around to hear his mutters.

  "Perhaps we ought to look for a different way across?" he ventured, looking to his left and right. He immediately knew it was hopeless. The chasm stretched for miles in either direction.

  "I don't think we can, sir" Jurrin said.

  Gorplin knew it was hopeless. He gulped loudly and made for the bridge.

  The old bridge was well crafted. Gorplin might have even said it was of dwarven origin, had he the mind to examine the structure.

  Once he was walking over it, however, the only thing on his mind was getting to the other side of the chasm before the suns dipped below the horizon.

  It would take nearly an hour to walk the bridge from one end to the other. But Gorplin wasn't going to be breaking a sweat due to his speed. He took every step gingerly.

  "Master Gorplin, Gaflion said from the rear of the line they had formed to cross. "Might you quicken your pace a bit
? We won't be across before midnight at this rate."

  Jurgon added, "Nope."

  The halflings didn't mind the trek at all. In fact, it seemed as if they were enjoying themselves a little too much in Gorplin's mind.

  Jurrin was talking about a bridge he had helped construct outside of Big Tree and how the whole process had taken months. Currently, he was trying to figure out how long it would take someone to build this particular bridge.

  "I imagine there was a whole host of workers, sir,"

  If he was talking to Gorplin, he wasn't speaking to a captive audience. The dwarf only heard him in the back of his mind, as all of his senses were currently consumed in the task of crossing.

  "Back home it was just me, Jurgon, and my cousin Forlo building a bridge that was no longer than the four of us laying down. Forlo was a bit of an odd fellow, never seemed to take a bath. That's why we kept him working in the water, sir," he finished. Gorplin heard him turn around to face backwards while he walked.

  The thought nearly made him vomit.

  "Right, Jurgon?" He asked lively.

  Then there was a pause.

  "Say, what's that back there, sir?" He asked. Gorplin didn't know if he was addressing him or Gaflion. He made sure his opinion was known regardless.

  "Bah," he answered. "We'll find out when we've come to solid ground."

  Another moment of silence followed.

  "Gorplin," came Gaflion's voice. His tone was grave.

  "It is imperative that you run!" He said, warning the dwarf urgently.

  Gorplin knew that tone. He gathered up his courage, turned on the spot, and looked back to the other side from which they had come.

  Four bright purple fires shone there. Each one was moving closer and closer to the bridge.

  "Run!" Gaflion yelled.

  And the four purple flames began to race down the bridge in a line, straight for Gorplin and the others.

  ***

  HE DREW HIS AXE AND stood to face the demons that ran to them.

  “Come on, Gaflion!” he said as he felt his fear waning in the prospect of a battle. “Let the halflings get to the other side, we can hold them off!”